


Human Hands are Better

by BGB



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Massage, Pre-Slash, Tony is kind of insecure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BGB/pseuds/BGB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony hurts his back, so he invents a massaging machine. </p>
<p>Steve is better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Hands are Better

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Avengerkink prompt [here](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=16482308#t16482308)!
> 
> Also, this is my first fic in, like, 300 years (I'm extremely old). So, um, beware?

If there was one thing that Tony hated more than anything else in the world, it was any kind of reminder that he wasn't getting any younger.  
Okay, scratch that - he also really, really hated giant flying metal octopi. Those things hit hard, dammit, and he'd taken more than his share of blows given that he was one of two on the team who could actually sustain airborne flight. Thor, of course, had his swinging hammer, but Tony just had his armor, and on his seventh time smashed between a building and a metallic cephalopod, something in his back had just wrenched. Tony hadn't been able to help the growl of pain that had ripped out of his throat at the impact, though he did give himself credit for keeping most of the more colorful phrases inside of his head.

"Tony! Are you okay?" Steve had called out seconds later, and then again when Tony failed to blast away the still headbutting octopus in favor of breathing heavily into the comm. "Iron Man! Respond!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he wheezed, finally regaining enough equilibrium to push down the pain and focus back on the fight. If he'd held back on his usual aerial acrobatics and show-off antics during the remainder of battle, that was completely coincidental and not at all because every time he tried to bend at the waist the muscles in his back bunched and screamed at him, shocky ripples of sparking pain flaring everywhere. By the time they'd defeated the last of the stupid monsters, he'd been panting with short, jerky breaths, comm long ago disconnected to hide the sound from his teammates.

In retrospect, he supposed he shouldn't have just flown off like he had at the end, but then, it wasn't as if it was exactly abnormal for him to skip out before Steve, Fury, or anyone else could demand a meeting or a debriefing or whatever the hell they were supposed to be officially doing after saving the world. It also meant that when he returned to the Avengers Tower, he was completely alone. He didn't have to hide the agonized sounds that soundtracked the removal of the suit, of the support system that had kept him from completely crumpling in pain out on the field. That was saved for the removal.

He spent some time lying on the floor once he'd been dumped out of the suit, staring up at the ceiling and pondering between spasms whether or not it would potentially be possible to construct himself a brand new spine, one that hadn't been used and abused over more years that he was comfortable acknowledging. He drew up several mental schematics, though when he wound up scrapping each individual one, he had to admit defeat. Constructing a spine of metal would probably take far more patience, deliberation, and personal risk (he didn't think anyone would really be up for helping him to remove the spine he currently had) than he really was prepared for, but that didn't mean he couldn't invent something else.

So, when he finally managed to drag his sorry carcass up off the floor, he shuffled miserably into the elevator and down into his lab, making sure to bolt and lock and bar every single possible option any of the Avengers could have for getting within sight of him and his problems. They already all thought he was reckless (okay, maybe) and seemed to suspect his genius was tempered with long term periods of relative insanity (he called it creativity), and he didn't need to give them any reasons for benching him, especially not in the name of "for your own good". He knew they watched him the closest, even more closely than the Hulk. He was the most expendable; practically anyone could get into a metal suit and fight. He had to play his cards carefully, and his move now was to fix this damn cramp before anyone figured out he'd been injured.

What Tony really needed was something to help him work out the kinks in his back, to loosen the muscles that refused to unclench from their tense, painful bunching. Baths were out, since being submerged in water wasn't exactly Tony's thing, and he wasn't big on being touched by complete strangers when he wasn't an active participant (ha ha), and anyway, personal paranoia made the concept of baring his back less than enjoyable. What he needed was something that he could control, that he would be able to maneuver himself to work at the sore muscles, and the answer from there on out was simple - build a goddamn awesome massaging robot.

Tony was a goddamn awesome genius.

He spent the first day drawing up and discarding schematics and system plans and bits and pieces of machinery that would or would not work for his purposes. The last thing he wanted to do was screw up his back more, rendering himself entirely useless. He actually had to be careful for once, which was just inconvenient. He was careful with things he gave to others, but for his own machinations he didn't really see the need. He calculated risks automatically and always knew what he was getting into; his propensity for blowing up half his lab at least twice a week was just a fluke. Mostly.

By the dawning of the second day, he'd started in on the mechanics, immersing himself in his favorite part of his creative process. He loved feeling the tiny, delicate pieces of machinery come together beneath his fingertips, shifting and whirring into place. He was peripherally aware around midday that Jarvis had started to periodically announce attempts by the other Avengers to get Tony's attention, but that was immaterial. The alarms indicating a real problem had not gone off, and the machinery was starting to act up. The rollers were being a complete bitch. His teammates could wait or just get what they needed themselves.

By evening on the second day, the structure was completely assembled, the wiring complete and kicking thanks to the monitoring help of Jarvis (who was still insisting on telling Tony something about Captain Rogers, though Tony had no idea why and still wasn't listening), and after running a few additional diagnostics, Tony settled himself into the attached chair. He winced at the pulling from his back that accompanied his movements, and gingerly picked up the remote from the tabletop next to his new machine. He'd made sure to create an extensive series of settings that would vary from very light pressure to an intense, pulsing force against the still painful, tender muscles, all under his direct control from the remote. He'd even installed a killswitch, just in case his massage machine tried to kill him. He'd made that mistake before.

The first tender rolls, when the machine gently shuddered to life, were blessed, blessed relief, focusing particularly along the length of his spine and rolling from base to neck, then spreading out above his shoulder blades before sweeping back down again, the pressure increasing as it went. He shivered with pleasure as the rollers pushed up and down, up and down, and slowly he began to relax, the tension and stiffness bleeding out. He sighed heavily, letting his head hang down, wishing he'd had the forethought to install a neck massager too, but hey - little things, little things. He upped the pressure further, especially at the base of his spine through just below his shoulder blades, where a great deal of the stiffness was originating. It felt great, despite the predictability of the movements. Tony punched in his final pattern determinations and settled back, closing his eyes and letting the machine do its work.

He stayed in his chair for about a half an hour, almost lulling himself into sleep, when his stomach abruptly gave a great growl. Tony frowned. Without the distraction of the crippling spasms in his back, it was suddenly much easier to remember that he hadn't eaten since the day before the battle, and hadn't slept since then either. He attempted to ignore the hunger, already within the reach of falling asleep right in his chair, but another growl let him know that sleep would be difficult at this point. With a sigh, he pushed himself up, taking a moment to stretch and listen to the pleasing popping of his spine, feel the stretch of muscles that were tired, and maybe still a little achy (more pleasantly so, though), before making his way up the stairs. When he got to the top without his back being too much trouble, he considered his robot a success. There was obviously more work to be done, but Tony had succeeded - he'd made a goddamn awesome massaging robot.

The kitchen was thankfully deserted when he emerged from the depths, which really shouldn't have surprised him since a glance at the tabletop clock display let him know it was approaching two in the morning . He sighed with relief - he didn't really feel like explaining what he'd been up to - and pulled open the fridge to investigate what kind of edible options he had. After settling on some frozen pizza that it was unlikely anyone would miss, since it had been in there for at least a week, Tony shut the fridge door with his selection. He turned, intending to head for the microwave.

Instead, he crashed right into the broad chest of Captain America, scaring the crap out of himself and nearly dropping the pizza on the floor.

"Christ, Cap!" Tony wheezed, doubling over slightly and wincing at the brief flare up of pain - more time needed in the chair after all. "You're a super soldier. Shouldn't you make some kind of noise?"

"Where have you been?" Steve asked, that concerned wrinkle showing up between his brows, a wrinkle that was pretty much always present when Steve had to interact with Tony. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for days".

Tony frowned. Had he missed something? Had the alarm gone off and he somehow hadn't heard it? "Was there a problem?"

That furrow deepened. "You tell me, Tony. You were the one in your lab for days."

The situation was still perplexing Tony. "Uh, yeah. I'm always in my lab for days, Cap."

Steve arched an eyebrow at Tony, crossing his ridiculously large arms over his ridiculously large chest, making his ridiculously tight white shirt stretch ridiculously. Not that Tony noticed. "You don't normally lock yourself in."

Tony gave a shrug, sticking the pizza into the microwave, mind running through all of the scenarios that could have resulted in Cap confronting him. None of them looked good. Deflection required. "Wow. Was I locked in? That's weird. Well, I was working on something, and Jarvis was running a bunch of programs for me and I guess he just didn't have the time to spare to do something as menial as unlock the lab door."

There was a moment of silence from behind him, and Tony kept his eyes on the rotating pizza. "Tony, Jarvis informed me that you'd locked yourself in. You told him not to let anyone in."

Tony gave a vague glare up in the direction of the ceiling. "Is that what he said?"

Suddenly, a pair of big, warm hands spread over his shoulders, and Tony startled slightly before tensing. Steve gave a gentle squeeze. "He also said you'd hurt your back."

Bastard A.I. "Community college, Jarvis," Tony growled. "City community college, remedial computer classes."

Jarvis didn't deign to reply, but even if he had, Tony might not have heard over the rushing in his own ears when, slowly, giving Tony enough time to move away if he wanted, Steve's hands started kneading.

"Was it from when you hit the building the seventh time?" Steve asked, thumbs digging into the base of Tony's neck, making gentle circles against muscles that Tony figured wouldn't still be so stiff. "That impact was horrible. I thought you'd really hurt yourself, Tony. I've never heard you make sounds like that before, not even when you came plummeting back from space."

Tony tried to reply, but then Steve's hands moved down, thumbs pressing and circling into those long lengths of muscle along his spine that, again, Tony had been so sure were fixed until Steve started touching them. It took all of Tony's self control and extensive willpower not to melt into a puddle on the floor. He tried to think of something to say, something intelligent and witty that would deflect the fact that he'd hurt himself, but Steve's hands felt amazing. "Nnyerg," he managed instead, words getting lodged in his throat as those strong thumbs stroked over the knots, feeling them out and pressing. Steve chuckled, digging deeper, and Tony leaned forward to brace himself against the countertop, shamelessly pressing back into Steve's touch.

When Tony's back arched too far, Steve backed off slightly, hands falling flat to Tony's back. "Stop that, you'll make me pinch something," Steve admonished, pushing Tony forward a little before using the flat of his palms to run up and down Tony's back again, pressing and pulling and kneading away with a new force that left Tony gasping in relief. This was ten times better than his machine, thorough and selective, and the warmth of Steve's strong hands made Tony shiver with pleasure. And when Steve just chuckled again, smoothing his hands over Tony's sides and down to rub at the base of his spine, Tony let himself sag, his eyes sliding closed.

"Why didn't you just tell one of us you'd hurt your back?" Steve asked, apparently unaware that Tony's speech capabilities were on the fritz at the moment. "I could have helped you two days ago. So could Bruce - he's an actual doctor."

"Not really - hrrrg - not really that kind of doctor," Tony gasped out, leaning forward to brace on his elbows instead of his hands, and immediately regretted the move when Steve took it as a sign to step even closer, effectively trapping Tony against the counter top and making his brain go to entirely different places. "Christ, where did you learn to do this?"

There was a moment of silence during which Tony nearly fell down at the repeated attention to the space of muscle running between his spine's base and his shoulder blades. "I know what feels good for me, I guess," Steve finally replied. "I get stiff a lot."

Tony frowned through the haze of pleasure, and pushed himself back up a little, pretending that there wasn't actually a bit of a blush trying to make its way to his cheeks when he found himself directly up against Steve's body. "Really? Shouldn't the serum fix that?"

Steve shrugged, his hands settling on Tony's waist, and damn if that didn't feel nice all on its own. "It helps it go away pretty quickly, but I still ache, sometimes. It might just be psychological, you know? I should be used to being this big, but it's like I look in the mirror some days, at this body, and I just feel tired."

"And here I thought I was the only old man on the team," Tony commented mildly.

Another pause, and suddenly Steve was turning Tony around so he could look at him. That stupid eyebrow wrinkle was back, and Tony increasingly wanted to smooth it away with his fingertips. "Tony, you're not old. You know Clint is only a couple years younger than you, right?"

No, Tony hadn't known that, but that didn't matter. "He's also a trained super spy who probably would pop his spine in and out and rearrange his muscles with his own bare hands, and then jump right back into the fighting," he replied.

Steve frowned. "Tony," he said, drawing out the "y", and Tony cringed.

"What? Are you going to lecture me about something? If I promise to repay the favor next time you're feeling stiff, can I escape being told off for being weak and old?"

"Tony," Steve replied, putting more force behind the name this time. "You are not weak, and you're not old. You got smashed into the side of a building at least seven times by a.. by whatever those things were."

"Giant metal octopi," Tony supplied, a little surprised by Steve's attention to detail, though he supposed he shouldn't have been.

Steve grinned, and Tony was so distracted by the disappearance of the wrinkle between Steve's eyebrows that he almost missed the following words. "You would really be willing to do that?"

Tony blinked, mind going south again. "Do what?"

Steve squirmed a little, his cheeks pinking, and that really wasn't helping the gutter Tony's brain was rolling around in. "You know...help me out."

Tony stared, watching Steve's cheeks go from pink to red. "Oh. Oh! You angling for a back rub of your own, Captain?" He grinned before Steve could reply, and placed his own hand against that ridiculously broad chest. "I think I could work with that."

Steve grinned again, looking a bit less flustered. "You sure? I mean, if you've got some machine you've been working on in the lab or something, I could just use that."

"Nah," Tony said, already pushing Steve towards the living room, pizza forgotten in the microwave. "Human hands are better than machines. Now take off that damn shirt."


End file.
